


Never Fall

by Fyre



Series: Ne'er So Fair [2]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, people were wankers, and sometimes, they made the mistake of upsetting Frank's boyfriend, and sometimes, that made Frank angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Fall

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the lyrics of the song that played when the boys kissed for the first time.
> 
> Also, advanced warning for Frank's language and smut :) (And before anyone says anything, age of consent in the UK is 16, and by this point, the boys are at least 17, if not 18)

“Out of my fucking way!”

A group of year tens scattered in a panic as Grayson stormed out of the Head Master’s office. He kicked over a chair standing in the hall and pounded down the stairs into the main hall. Wickers ran like a fucking girl who'd seen a spider, but Frank didn’t give a fuck.

He slammed into the boys toilets.

“Out.”

Two of the boys at the lavs fled, but the last one made a fucking pathetic squeak. “Can I finish?”

Frank stared at him. “Didn’t you hear me, you arsehole?” he snarled, taking a step towards him.

The boy shoved his cock in his trousers and fled, the door slamming shut behind him.

Frank spun around and braced his hands on the edge of the sink. It wasn’t as if it was the first time he’d been dragged up to the Head for kicking the shit out of someone, but it was the first time he’d actually given enough of a shit to do it because of someone.

He wanted to go back and find the stupid cunt and beat the seven shades of shit out of him.

He wanted to make him hurt.

The hinges of the door creaked.

“Get out,” he growled.

“Don’t think so.”

Frank lifted his eyes. He didn’t know why the boys’ loos needed a mirror, but it had one, all covered in graffiti and drawings of pricks. In the space in the middle, he could see Stephen standing by the door, looking at him, worried.

“You all right, Frankie?”

Frankie.

Only Stephen ever called him that now.

“He shouldn’t have said them things,” Frank replied, his fingers pressing against the sink. “Why’d’you let him say them things to you?”

“What? That I was a fag?” Stephen shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ve been called that my whole life. Don’t see why I should let it bother me.”

Frank pressed on one of the taps and splashed water on his face, then turned around. “He was laughing at you,” he said. “You let him laugh at you.”

Stephen sighed. “Frankie, babes, if I picked a fight with everyone who tried to insult me, I’d be fighting all the time. I don’t want to fight all the time.” He tilted his head, looking straight at Frank, at him, not at big tough Grayson that everyone else saw. “You don’t have to fight him for me.”

Frank crossed the floor in three steps and caught Stephen’s face in his hands, kissing him. “I wanted to,” he whispered, pressing his brow to Stephen’s. “You’re… you’re my boyfriend, and I don’t want any fucking twat upsetting you.”

“Boyfriend?” Stephen said, smiling like an idiot. “That so?”

Frank replied by pressing him back up against the door, and kissing him again. Stephen wrapped an arm around him, keeping him there when he started to pull back.

“Just because some people are twats doesn’t mean you need to kick all their arses,” he murmured, running his thumb along Frank’s cheek. “There are always going to be people who want to insult me. Could be cos I’m gay. Could be cos of my mum and dad. Could be cos I’m so much prettier than them.” Frank couldn’t help smiling a bit at that. “See, you just have to ignore them.”

“I don’t like doing nothing,” Frank muttered. “S’like they’re insulting us. Both of us. They insult you, they insult me.”

Stephen kissed him again, lightly. “Just think of it this way, babes: they’re jealous because they can’t touch us.”

Frank nodded, gazing at Stephen. He still had his boyfriend pinned back against the door, one arm up beside his head, the other at Stephen’s neck. He was fucking gorgeous.

“Can I?” he asked in a whisper.

“Can you what?”

Frank swallowed hard and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Touch you?” he asked breathlessly.

Stephen frowned, drawing circles on Frank’s cheek with the tip of his thumb. “You’re not just trying to make a point, are you?”

Frank shook his head, annoyed. “Course not!” he exclaimed. “I just…” He remembered out in the yard, when the daft bastard had laid into Stephen for dancing. “I was watching you, outside. You looked fucking beautiful and I wanted to…” He faltered. He was fucking blushing again.

Stephen bit his lip. He was blushing too.

“All right,” he said breathlessly. “If you want.”

Frank pressed him back up against the door, kissing him. Stephen has his arms around him in a second. It'd taken getting used to, but now, he fucking loved it.

He slid his own hand down from Stephen's neck, pressing it against his chest.

The stupid bastard outside thought Stephen was soft.

Stephen was queer, but he was anything but fucking soft.

Maybe he wouldn't kick someone's arse, but if he wanted to, Stephen was strong enough to snap anyone in half.

Frank could remember seeing him dancing at the auditions at Christmas. He could see every muscle in Stephen's body and if he'd thought about chickening out of doing the auditions, watching those legs move, he'd forgotten all about it.

Under his shirt, Stephen's chest was smooth and flat and hard as fuck. He grabbed the bottom of Stephen's shirt, dragging it up. Daft sod always looked too neat, all tucked in and tidy, like he would never shag someone behind the bike sheds.

They hadn't.

Not yet, anyway.

Frank wasn't a fucking pussy, but being with another bloke was new. He didn't want to make a tit of himself, not when he liked Stephen as much as he did.

Still, first time he pressed his hand to Stephen's belly, his skin so fucking warm, he had to stop for a minute and take a breath.

Stephen's hand kneaded the back of his neck. "S'all right, babes," he whispered, his lips brushing against Frank's. His other hand slipped down and covered Frank's, guiding it across smooth flesh and the fine trail of hair that led down.

Frank shivered, spreading his other hand on the door. "Jesus."

Stephen giggled, nuzzling the tip of his nose. "Not quite," he whispered playfully. 

Frank kissed him again, letting his hand move around to Stephen's back. He could feel every muscle shifting under the smooth skin as Stephen arched his back, pressing his chest to Frank's. Stephen drew back from the kiss, smiling, his eyes gleaming, and reached back and shoved Frank's hand right down onto his arse.

Frank swore at him and Stephen laughed.

"What? You snogged me on stage in front of everyone," he said, wrapping his hand in Frank's tie. "Call this payback." He nipped at Frank's lower lip, then darted his tongue along the mark he'd left. "Or permission."

Frank stared at him, then slowly squeezed his arse through his trousers. Stephen bit his own lip in a way that made him look innocent but trouble as well. He pressed his hips forward, and Frank swallowed hard.

It was one thing to kiss him, but he could feel his prick right through his trousers.

Someone bashed against the door from the outside. 

“Oi! Stephen!”

Frank roared back, “Piss off, you bastard!”

Whoever it was legged it, and Frank looked back at Stephen, who was trying his best to keep from giggling. 

“What?”

“To think people thought you’d get soft,” he said, dark eyes dancing, one hand rising to stroke Frank’s cheek.

Frank turned his head into Stephen’s touch. “I ain’t soft,” he muttered. He’d worked too fucking hard to stay on top. No one would put him back to the bottom again.

Stephen leaned closer and pressed his lips to the tattoo on Frank’s throat. “I know,” he murmured, darting his tongue across it. “I like it.”

Frank squeezed Stephen’s arse. “You like trouble,” he growled.

“God, yeah,” Stephen laughed breathlessly. “Got to love a bad boy.”

Frank kissed him again, hard, pinning him back up against the door, and brought his hand around in front, between them. Shit, it was new, but he was Frank fucking Grayson. He wasn’t scared of a fucking cock. He pressed his hand to the front of Stephen’s trousers, and Stephen actually fucking squeaked like someone stepping on a fucking gerbil.

“Babes…” His hands were on Frank’s shoulders. “Don’t start what you don’t plan on finishing.”

Frank looked at him. Stephen wasn’t calling him chicken or anything. He just knew how long they’d taken to get this far, and he wasn’t even skin on fucking skin yet. Frank met his eyes and kept looking right at him as he slid his fingers around Stephen’s belt and undid it.

Stephen was pink and grinning like it was Christmas when Frank undid his fly, and he squirmed, shaking his trousers halfway down his fucking legs. 

God, those legs.

Frank looked down, forgetting all about cocks and balls for just a moment.

He wanted to kiss those fucking thighs. It was the first thing he thought of and before he could stop himself, Frank was kneeling on the fucking floor of the boys’ lavs and pressing his mouth to the inside of Stephen’s thigh.

“Oh!”

Frank raised his eyes to see Stephen looking down at him. And then his gaze drifted. If Stephen was enjoying getting groped, he was fucking loving having some big bastard kneeling in front of him with a mouth pressed to his thigh.

“I like your legs,” Frank said slowly. He hesitated, then brought both hands up, dragging the up the back of Stephen’s thighs. The muscles tensed and jumped under his hands and he couldn’t help pressing his face to one leg, then the other. “Want to have ‘em around me.”

Stephen’s hands were pressing against the door, slipping. “Y-you didn’t say anything before,” he said breathlessly.

Frank rubbed his face against him like a fucking great cat. “Didn’t see ‘em naked before.” He lifted his head, his mouth dry at the sight of Stephen’s tented boxers half-hidden by his shirt. He kneaded at Stephen’s thighs with his hands, but all he could think of was if he had the balls to touch Stephen like he’d wanted to for fucking months. “C’n’I…?” he asked, looking up at Stephen.

Stephen nodded, dragging his loose shirt back up. “All yours, Frankie,” he said, his voice all low and hungry. He almost sounded fucking badass, his teeth bared, his eyes shining.

Frank hesitated. Fuck it, he thought, then pulled Stephen’s boxers down. Stephen was pretty much ready to go. Lucky bastard didn’t anything to worry about there. Frank was so busy staring he didn’t notice his fucking hand had a mind of its fucking own until it wrapped around Stephen’s prick right in front of his eyes.

Stephen knocked his head back against the door. “God, I hope no one needs a piss!” he said hoarsely.

Frank moved his hand slowly, watching the way Stephen tried to swallow, the way his hands grabbed at the door like it was holding him up. If just a hand could make him shake like that…

It was a cock.

He looked at it, hard and hot against his hand. Just a cock. Not like he didn’t know how to use one of them. And he knew what he liked, and he knew that worked, and he remembered Stacy Johnson and one of her party tricks that had almost convinced him he wasn’t bent.

He took a breath, then knelt up and wrapped his mouth around Stephen’s cock.

You’d’ve thought he’d neutered the bastard from the yell.

He smacked Stephen on the thigh - not hard. Just enough to remind him they didn’t need any fucking teachers wandering in.

Stephen’s hips jerked and one of his hands wrapped around the back of Frank’s head.

“Oh god oh god…”

Frank moved his mouth cautiously. It was fucking difficult to think with a mouthful of cock and his own hard-on getting harder every second, but he remembered how to use his tongue like the daft bird had, and his hand an’ all, and Stephen’s fingers pressed against the back of his head, stroking down his neck.

Stephen was babbling all kinds of fucking shit. Frank tried to listen to a fucking word he was saying, but if he was doing it wrong, Stephen’s cock was disagreeing. He squeezed with his hand, dragging it up and down, and sucked, and licked, and Stephen made a small, stifled sound as he came.

It tasted like fucking Brighton seaside, without the sand.

He’d swallowed half a mouthful of the stuff, but he spat the rest on the floor, and before he could think about wiping his mouth, Stephen grabbed him by the tie, pulled him to his feet and kissed him as hard as he could. His tongue was as quick as his fingers, and his hand was down the front of Frank’s trousers, before Frank even realised.

“Christ!” Frank croaked, as Stephen’s fingers moved around his prick like he knew exactly how Frank liked it. What was it about the fucking bastard that turned his legs to fucking water?

Stephen rubbed his cheek along Frank’s, then nipped his earlobe. “My parents are away this weekend,” he murmured, his voice low and hot as fuck. “I’ll be all on my own in the house. In my bed.” He dragged his tongue up the side of Frank’s neck, making Frank clutch at him, his arm, his side. “I think you should come around.” His mouth was suddenly by Frank’s ear again. “Then you can… come around.”

The hand. The words. The tongue. Every fucking bit of it was too much and he came, right there and then, all over Stephen’s shirt and hand.

“Shit,” he whispered, bringing up one shaking hand to brace himself against the door. 

Stephen bit his lower lip like the fucking brat he was. “Don’t worry, babes,” he said, and made it fucking worse by lifting his hand and licking each fucking finger clean. “I’ve made more mess before.” He leaned closer and kissed Frank’s lips delicately, like he hadn’t just talked dirty and given him a fucking hand job in the lav. “We should probably get to class.”

Frank stared at him. “Yeah…”

Stephen ducked his head, giggling. “Stop that.”

“Wha?”

“Looking at me like that,” Stephen said. “Makes me want to stay here.” He lifted his damp fingertips to touch Frank’s cheek, tracing his fingers down. “That’ll have to wait until the weekend, right, babes?”

Jesus Christ.

“You want me to come round? To your place?”

Stephen shrugged, lips twitching. “Got the house to myself. Need company.” He feigned a pout. “Unless you don’t want…”

Frank caught Stephen’s face between his hands and kissed him. “I’ll fucking be there,” he said. “You want me to bring jonnies?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Stephen purred. “I have them in all the colours of the rainbow.” He kissed Frank again, lightly. “But I really do need to go to class. Alfie said we might be doing class wars this afternoon.”

Frank reluctantly let him go, stepping back and reaching down to put his cock away. “Wickers is a tosser,” he said. “Don’t know why you bother.”

“He’s all right,” Stephen said with a smile. “A bit thick, but could be worse. We could have Pro Green instead.”

Frank nodded, too fucking distracted by the way Stephen’s thighs moved when he bent to pull up his fucking trousers. Stephen caught him staring like a fucking perv and he turned away, blushing.

Soft fingertips caught his chin, lifting it. “You can look all you want, Frankie,” Stephen murmured, his face close, his lips warm and his breath smelling of bubblegum. “I like it when you look.”

“Poof,” Frank whispered.

Stephen dropped a kiss on the end of his nose. “Pot and kettle, babes,” he said, smiling. “Pot and kettle.” He snatched up his bag from the floor. “I’ll see you after class, yeah? Out front?”

Frank nodded. It wasn’t like he had to, but it was all right, walking him home, talking and stuff. And sometimes, they’d have a snog before Stephen went in. That bit was all right too. 

Stephen pulled the door open, then started laughing.

“What?” Frank demanded. He’d seen too many notes of “Fag” and “Bufty” left around for Stephen already and he didn’t feel like kicking someone else’s arse again.

Stephen tugged a sign off the door, holding it up.

“Out of order?” Frank frowned. “Why’s’it pink?”

“Chantelle,” Stephen said happily. “She was making sure we weren’t disturbed.” He leaned closer and pecked Frank on the cheek. “Laters, babes!”

Frank watched him run for the stairs, and glanced back at the mirror to see if he was grinning like a soft poof. Probably. But then he had a fucking perfect boyfriend with the best thighs he had ever fucking seen, and a date for a shag on Saturday.

He straightened his tie and looked around.

There had to be some little bastards to terrorise.


End file.
